


Foundations

by surena_13



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-02
Updated: 2012-08-15
Packaged: 2017-11-09 01:36:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surena_13/pseuds/surena_13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically a space parents story set in the A Song of Ice and Fire universe. Set during a Dance with Dragons, so there are spoilers for those who haven't gotten that far into the books yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lady Laura

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not mine.

It took Lady Laura a few moments to realize that the icy wind had stopped blowing and that for the first time in years, it had started to snow. Winter was finally here. The small white snowflakes melted when they touched her outstretched palm, but they clung to the heavy fabric of her dress and her hair, almost making her feel young and carefree again. But those days were long gone.

 

They said that after a long summer comes and even longer winter. Laura knew, could feel it in her bones, in the chill in the air, that they had been right. She would not live to see spring again. She wouldn’t never see leaves on trees again. All she would know until the end of her days would be winter, cold, death. War.

 

Caprica, her small town had managed to remain almost unscathed. When the Young Wolf had called his banners to him, Laura had barely had any men to send. The few who had departed flying her colors, had never returned. They were either slain on the battle field or had met their end during the Red Wedding. The mere thought of that slaughter still made her shiver.

 

She had been asked to attend as well. The bride had been named after her house after all and once she had been rather well acquainted with the Tully’s. She had already started preparing for the journey, had packed the gown she had planned to wear, black and white with red details, the colors of her house, when the ship had come to her town.

 

Before the bay had frozen, it had come, a lone ship from the Iron Islands and Laura had known they were lost. The only men they had had to defend their walls were too grey to remember how to hold a sword or too green to have been taught how to and her walls were not strong enough to be a defense on their own. There had been no hope at all.

 

But she was a lady of the North and she would not yield without a fight. She had lived for one and fifty years, she had survived the Mad King’s reign unlike her mother, sisters and in the end her father, had seen Robert Baratheon’s uprising, had seen him claim the Iron Throne and had sworn her fealty to him. She had done all of that without ever taking a husband or bringing any heirs into this twisted world.

 

To her surprise there had been no siege. She had been lucky enough to have never have had to deal with Ironborn men before, but she had heard tales of their ruthlessness. Theon Greyjoy had betrayed the family who had cared for him for years and had butchered two young children and set their heads on spikes. She had expected them to barge into her town, rape the women, kill all the remaining men and possibly take her as a hostage, but she was most likely to be raped and killed as well. It was what Ironborn did, especially since she held no real value.

 

“Milady,” a soft voice said behind her and Laura turned around, snow falling from her hair and shoulders. Tory stood before her, wrapped in a heavy fur cloak. The Braavosi girl had never known a winter, not having lived in Westeros for more than five years, and the cold affected her more than anyone else. “The admiral wishes to see you, if it pleases you, milady.”

 

It did not please her. She had been the lady of the castle. The town, the people had been hers and now she had been forced to relinquish that power to a man she barely knew. He claimed they were sharing it, but she knew how men thought and what they feelings were towards her sex. They never respected a woman in a position of power. And yet, there was something different about the admiral, something that pulled her to him, against her wishes.

 

The admiral was the man who had been in command of the ship and had simply walked through her town, his crew in tow and had entered her castle without spilling a single drop of blood. She had offered him no resistance and he had given her no reason too. As long as he didn’t threaten the safety of her people, Laura would not give him any cause to.

 

Admiral William Adama of house Adama, a small insignificant house on the Iron Islands had left the Kraken’s fleet, not desiring to be part of it anymore after Theon Greyjoy had named himself Prince of Winterfell and Balon Greyjoy had fallen to his death. Adama had anticipated a power struggle between his people and had fled before he and his crew could become a cost a paid in blood.

 

Sanctuary. He had come to her looking for sanctuary.

 

He wanted no quarrel with her or her people, but he wasn’t leaving either. Laura had straightened her back, clenched her jaw and courteously invited him to stay in Caprica until the war was over or until spring came, both of which she doubted would ever happen. The Ironborn had settled into her town, mixing with her people, but never harming them.

 

They even helped bring in the last harvest before winter finally set in. There had been marriages between Adama’s men and her widows and maidens. She had even been told there were pregnancies. She wouldn’t have thought it possible women of the North and Ironborn men, but it was and it worked. The only relationship that was still very fragile was the one between her and William Adama.

 

The admiral was polite and treated her with as much respect as he could muster, but Laura had trouble adjusting to the fact of sharing he reign. She had permitted it to happen, but she was not used to being ruled by anyone other than her father. And she did not like to submit herself to someone she didn’t know or trust yet even if the admiral seemed reasonably respectful.

 

She swept into the room, the heavy red wool of her dress dragging over the dark stones as Tory closed the door behind her and left her alone with the Ironborn. Adama stood in front of the hearth, his hand clasped behind his back. His eyes following her every move as she approached him, the heels of her shoes clacking against the stone and the crackling of the fire the only sounds in the room.

 

“Admiral,” she greeted him without curtseying. She refused to bow before someone who wasn’t a lord, a lady, a queen or king. And she would not bow before a mere sailor. William Adama was a rough looking man with clear blue eyes that could speak volumes and more than once she had caught herself staring at them, trying to read the blue orbs.

 

“M’lady,” he replied. For his rather rugged appearance and his sailor life, he must have been raised by a lord. No lowborn would say m’lady. Only the highborn said that.

 

“Were you out without a cloak, m’lady?” Adama asked, concern lacing his voice. Laura merely raised an eyebrow as she seated herself near the fire, the snow quickly melting leaving dark spots in the red fabric and her hair slightly damp. Was it not obvious that she hadn’t been wearing a cloak from the snow that had decorated her dress?

 

“It is none of your concern what I wear or do not wear, admiral,” she said harshly.

 

“I have no wish to see you ill, m’lady,” he said softly as he seated himself as well, his startling blue eyes never leaving her face. Laura fought the urge to snap that she hadn’t given him leave to sit as she remembered that he had two hundred men and she a mere twenty and all of them unable to fight.

 

“A little snow won’t make me ill,” she replied coolly. _And it won’t make whatever I am suffering from any worse_ she added in her head. And sadly Maester Cottle did not know what her illness was, nor did he have cure for it.

 

It had started one day when she had been washing herself and she had felt a hard lump in her breast that had not been there before and Laura had known that it was something evil. The Maester had concurred. He had examined her, leeched her, given her every potion that he knew off that might shrink the lump or deal with the draining feeling she had been experiencing of late, but none of it worked.

 

Lately she had started taking an extract from the leaves of the weirwood which considerably lessened to pain and the exhaustion she felt at the end of each day, but had as a side-effect dreams of snakes and death. Of green lands and a never ending summer. Of the Old Gods and dragons. More than once she had woken up sweating, screaming. But Maester Cottle found that it would be best if she continued taking the extract.

 

“I suppose it won’t, you being a lady of the North,” Adama said and averted his gaze and instead stared at the fire. She had never seen him in the Godswood, she had never heard him pray to the Seven or to the Drowned God and now she was wondered if her believed in the Lord of Light. The way he intently stared at the flames as if he could see something in them like the red priests she had only heard about. Maybe he was a godless man, which made him all the more dangerous.

 

“Why did you summon me here, admiral?” Laura asked slowly, running a hand through her hair, untangling some of the knots that the wind had gotten into it. She rarely did her in the Southern fashion and she almost never put her hair up or braided. She liked to let it loose and unruly. She loved the way it felt when the wind moved through it. Or the way it looked in the sunlight.

 

“I did not summon you. If it appeared otherwise, then I apologize.” He sounded regretful. But his voice always had a calming effect on her, even if she hadn’t wanted to admit that to herself yet. In all honesty he hadn’t summoned her, but Laura didn’t feel like making it easy for him. And yet she had stopped getting a feeling of satisfaction when the lines on his face deepened whenever she scorned him.

 

“Ramsay Snow holds Winterfell,” Adama said with a bitter tone to his voice. Laura knew that he shouldn’t be called Snow anymore, but a man who had a flayed man as his sigil deserved no other name. “Stannis Baratheon is marching towards him, planning to take the castle. Lord Commander Snow has let wildlings settle on our side of the Wall while the Others come closer to the Wall every day. Daenerys Targaryen’s dragons are said to be out of control. The Lannisters are tearing themselves apart and the Greyjoys aren’t faring much better.”

 

“Your point?” Laura said through clenched teeth. She knew how bad the situation in and out of Westeros was. But when it was said flat out like this, it seemed utterly hopeless.

 

“How did you survive? You are but a lone lady with a small town.” Laura snarled at his words but remained quiet. “You do not fly the colors of any of the well-known families, you have no protection. And yet the Bastard Boys, the Mountain, all of the terrors that have passed through these lands have somehow missed you.”

 

“They didn’t miss me. You saw my people. Women and children. Old men and boys. All the men of fighting age are gone and dead. And maybe it is because I have not aligned myself with any of the families that I have survived. Maybe they made the same mistake you make. They don’t see me as a threat. I am just an old woman with a few people in her town.”

 

“Do you think you’re a threat?” Laura narrowed her eyes, wondering where in Seven Hells Adama was trying to guide this conversation, but there was no animosity in the admiral’s eyes, just curiosity. She shrugged, feeling her anger ebb away.

 

“I think men underestimate me. I may not be wealthy or beautiful, but I do have enough food to get my people through a long winter, even with your men here, while the supplies of men like Ramsay Snow or Stannis or even Jon Snow will not last that long.” She had carefully started stocking up her cellars from the first moment of spring and hadn’t stopped until the last moment of autumn. Winter always came, no matter how long the summer.

 

“Does that make you a threat?” Adama inquired calmly. Laura pursed her lips and thought of all the things both men and women had said to her during her life. How suitors had passed on a marriage because of her stubborn attitude. And those who had seen her as a challenge, Laura had refused, not wanting to be some sort of wild trophy horse to be broken in.

 

She had never held a sword, but her father her taught her how to use a dagger to defend herself should the need arise. Laura didn’t feel the need divulge the small fact that she had considered slashing Adama’s throat more than once when he had just taken up residence in her castle. But the honor her father had installed in her during her upbringing had prevented her from doing so.

 

“No, that makes me strong and a survivor. Two qualities men fear in women,” she said slowly, wondering if it would get a reaction from the burly admiral. In the warm light his rugged appearance made him almost look handsome and not for the first time she wondered if maybe the man had some Braavosi blood in him. There was something foreign about and something that wasn’t natural to someone from the Iron Islands.

 

“I’ve always admired that in a woman,” Adama confessed and Laura felt her lips curl up into a smile. He would admire that.

 

“Then you must love me,” she countered dryly with a smile, the thought of why she was flirting with him briefly crossing her mind before she banished it and focused on the sound of his low chuckle filling the room. She had never heard him chuckle before. She had barely seen him smile.

 

“I wouldn’t call it love, but admiration is a good word for my feelings towards you.” His words momentarily stunned her. No man had ever openly admitted that to her and Laura felt an unfamiliar, warm feeling settle in her stomach and she felt a blush creep up on her cheeks. She hadn’t blushed since she was a little girl.

 

“I always assumed you didn’t like me,” she said, raising her chin to seem slightly defiant. She didn’t want to seem as if she had suddenly lost her steely resolve just because of a few kind words.

 

“I didn’t at first. I thought you were arrogant and a little naïve and perhaps cold and distant, but now that I’d like think I’ve gotten to know you a little better and I know the battles you’ve fought, you still fight. They may not have been fought with iron and blood, but they were battles all the same. I think you have more courage than any of my men.”

 

“And I think that you are trying to flatter me,” Laura said, but couldn’t hide her blush anymore or her widening smile. She didn’t know if it were his eyes or his voice or the small smirk that played on his lips or perhaps the way the fire made his hair seem wavier and thicker than before, but Laura was overcome with a sudden urge to reach out and touch him. She even found herself wondering what his lips would feel like against hers.

 

“I only said what I have observed and it is truth. In my eyes anyway.” He looked at her sideways, a little tilt to his head and just for a moment he didn’t look like the Ironborn sailor she thought he was, but like a man she could trust and admire. Laura shook her head and the moment was gone.

 

“Was the only reason you wanted to speak with me to flatter me or was there an actual purpose to this conversation?” she asked, trying to change to the subject to something relatively safe and get rid of the redness of her cheeks that had undoubtedly spread to her collarbone.

 

“I have been here for quite some time and I just wanted to get to know you better. I wanted to see if you could smile.” Laura felt a hint of embarrassment as she remembered how coldly she had treated him. How she had avoided him as much as possible because she didn’t want to be faced with the fact that maybe, just maybe William Adama was a decent man which he had turned out to be. She was still free. Her people were still free. She could have been put in a dark cell, broken and bruised, left to eating rats to survive.

 

“And now that you have seen me smile?”

 

“I find you to be enchanting, charming. Beautiful.” The last word was nothing more than whisper, but Laura heard it and thought that her heart skipped a beat. Through the years she had lovers much to the dismay of her mother and father, but none of them had ever called her beautiful and meant it. They said it to please her, thought it would make her fall in love with them. But Adama didn’t seem to want anything from her other than respect.

 

“You’re not used to compliments, are you?”

 

“I’m not used to compliments that don’t serve a higher purpose. Men usually want my land or what’s between my legs, usually both, when they pay me compliments.” Laura cringed at her slight crude way of putting things, but it only elicited another chuckle from the admiral.

 

“You are not like any of the women I have ever come across in my life,” Adama said and Laura knew that it was meant to be a compliment. Another one. She ran her hands over the fur trimming of her dress, not sure how to respond to him. She wasn’t used to this kind of brutal honesty, least of all from a man.

 

“And you are not like any of the men I’ve had to deal with,” she finally said, looking down at her hands. They looked deadly pale on top of the rich red of her dress. She tensed when one of Adama’s large hands came into her line of vision and he tentatively placed it over her much smaller hand, taking it in his. His skin was warm and rough. Comforting. Laura looked up and met his eyes.

 

“I am glad that I came here,” he admitted with a small smile that warmed Laura’s heart more than the fire in the hearth ever could. She took a shaky breath and then slowly covered his hand with her own, tangling their fingers. Maybe they had just started something that couldn’t be stopped and maybe it was a dangerous game that she shouldn’t get involved in. But she meant it with all her heart when she gave her reply.

 

“Me too.”


	2. The Admiral

He carefully watched the woman across from him and relished the feeling of her hand in his and the way her other hand covered his so gently. Her skin was soft but it didn’t feel as delicate as that of the women from the South he had known or those of the whores in Braavos. There was something in her blood that made her so utterly from the North that Bill had realized he shouldn’t have expected delicate nature from the lady.

 

There were times Bill thought she might have well have been Ironborn. Lady Laura possessed a resolve he had rarely witnessed in women and a strength unmatched by any other woman he had ever met. But she also had honor, something that wasn’t common to Ironborn women. He knew she would gladly lay down her life if it meant keeping her people safe.

 

Before he came to Caprica he had heard about Lady Laura of House Roslin. The information had been scarce, but even on the Iron Islands there had been whispers about the North’s  Red Lady, not to be confused with Stannis Baratheon’s red priestess. Laura Roslin was not as unknown as she thought she was.

 

Or maybe that was simply due to the fact that Bill had always taken a liking to tales of strong women. The story of Nymeria, the warrior queen of the Rhoyne who had conquered Dorne years ago had always been one of his favorites even if he had never admitted that to any other males. He had always wanted a wife that resembled her in strength and fearlessness. _And he had gotten that_ he thought darkly.

 

His wife, if she could still be called that, had been one of the most contemptibly wicked women he had ever had the misfortune of knowing. Their marriage had been an arranged one as all marriages in his family had been and it had not been a happy one.

 

Carolanne, had been, well, Carolanne. There were no right words in existence yet to describe the kind woman she was. Cruel was too strong, heartless was untrue. She had shown that she had a heart where it concerned their children. Unreliable was probably the word that described her best. He wouldn’t have trusted her with a hair on his head.

 

She hadn’t wanted to marry him. Instead she had wanted some fearsome sailor with bulging muscles and terrifying eyes, a Kraken. But her father had had different plans and married her off to Bill where she spent years trapped in a loveless marriage, fucking warriors and seamen far more potent than he could ever dream to be.

 

Their children, miraculously, had been his own. She had taunted him often enough by telling him they were from other men, but he had been able to see that their sons were his. It was in the color of their eyes, the set of their jaws, the way they walked and talked. They were undoubtedly Adama men.

 

When lady Laura pulled her hands away from his, Bill was returned to the present and looked at her as if he’d never seen her before. He had searched his whole life for a woman like the lady Laura. Someone beautiful, intelligent, strong, willing to fight for what she believed, but also knew honor and knew when not to fight.

 

He had met a lot of women and had shared his bed with a few he had liked enough, pretty whores from the Free Cities or independent women from the South, looking to spend a night with someone from the Iron Islands. But never before had he met someone like lady Laura. She was truly one of a kind. A treasure in the world, mysterious, dangerous, untouchable.

 

She smiled at him, almost shyly as she ran a hand through her hair and tucked a lock behind her ear. He had never seen her with her hair up. She always wore it down, the auburn curls freely cascading over her shoulders and down her back. The lady was kissed by fire. Her hair was the same color as dying flames or smoldering coals, burning brighter when touched. Her voice, however conveyed none of her shyness when she spoke again.

 

“I would enjoy it if you would join for dinner tonight, admiral. Will you indulge me?” she asked, her shy smile having turned into a confident one. He liked this look on her. Before today, the only expression he had seen on her face had been one of disdain. He preferred her smile. It lit up her face and made her green eyes more vivid.  

 

The admiral couldn’t help but return her smile. Maybe it were the small wrinkles around her eyes that deepened when she smiled or maybe it was simply the beautiful image she made as she sat there, her hands folded in her lap, the light of the flames illuminating her face and eyes, making her hair even more vibrant. Kissed by fire, indeed.

 

“I would love to join you for dinner, m’lady,” he replied sincerely, earning him another him another smile from the lady.

 

“Well, wonderful,” she said, as she nervously moved her hands over her skirt, fidgeting slightly. For someone who could ooze authority and confidence, she could be really adorable and awkward at times. “I’ll let Tory know she has to set the table for two.”

 

She was so different from Carolanne, so graceful, so honorable. At the moment Bill didn’t even know where his wife, or perhaps former wife was. She was still alive, he knew that much, but where she was or with whom was a complete mystery. She’d just left one day, leaving their almost adult sons in his care where he had been forced to take them with him onto the open sea.

 

He wished he could say he had mourned her departure, but he hadn’t. He had disliked the fact that she had abandoned her family without a single word, but he had never really missed her presence in his life. His sons had, having spent their entire life with their mother and just months at a time with their father, but they had mostly come to terms with their loss.

 

“Would you like to accompany me for a walk outside first? The first snow is falling. It is a rather beautiful sight.” The lady’s voice interrupted his thoughts again. Bill swallowed his comment about already being graced with a beautiful sight. He doubted if a woman like Lady Laura would appreciate bold comments about her appearance.

 

“Winter has come,” he said softly. Snow was always bad omen, at least that was what his mother had always said. Fishwife tales, his father had always responded. Whether it was a bad omen or not, it was beautiful to look upon. The lady hummed in agreement, a soft sound that was a lot more provocative than it was supposed to be. He pushed himself out of the chair and held his hand out to her.

 

“Shall we, m’lady?” he asked and nearly sighed with relief when the lady slid her hand in his, her mere touch reawakening feelings he had thought long gone.

 

“I think that if we are going to be on amicable terms, it would be appropriate if you called me by given name.” Lady Laura said as she slowly stood, the heavy fabric of her skirts falling down until the seams brushed over the floor. Red was a good color on her.

 

“Only if you promise return the favor, Laura.” Much to his surprise it didn’t feel strange to say just her name. It felt familiar in his mouth, the way it rolled off his tongue.

 

“I will, Bill.” He liked the way she smirked as she said his name. And he liked the way she immediately shortened his name. He had always preferred Bill to William.

 

“Are you going out again without a cloak?” he inquired.

 

“I’m a lady of the North. Winter is in my blood,” Laura said, her eyebrow raised defiantly. She looked every inch the lady of the North she was and claimed to be. She was winter, strong and fierce, unbent and unbroken.

 

“Like I said before, I have no wish to see you ill.” Bill already suspected that Laura wasn’t completely healthy. She had lost much of her color since he had come to Caprica, although that could be written off to the lack of sun these past months. But she also seemed to have lost weight and sometimes whenever he observed her she didn’t seem to be quite present, as if she were seeing things that weren’t there, as if she had already left this earth and had passed on to the next.

 

Bill had known many men that had been dying of an illness or men who had simply been dying. There was something about the way they carried themselves, something in their eyes that told him they were different. It wasn’t fear exactly. But they looked as if the Stranger was constantly following them, slowly creeping closer until their time was come and he could take them away from this life.

 

Laura Roslin didn’t exactly have the same manner about her, but something was haunting her, something that couldn’t be overcome and that scared him. He hardly knew the lady, but he couldn’t image this town without her. She was Caprica and its people. They adored her, for the most part. If she should die, he had no idea how this place would continue to survive.

 

“When the snow storms come and can’t see nothing else but snow and ice, then I will wear a cloak. This is only the beginning of what will be the worst winter of our lifetimes,” Laura countered.

 

“We will get through it.” If Laura was surprised when he said ‘we, she hid it well. Instead she gave another hum as an answer that was neither a denial nor a confirmation before she lead him out of the room, through the large hall and through the heavy doors to the courtyard.

 

What had once been grey stones, beautifully colored trees and a simple fountain had turned into a white landscape. Everything was covered with a thin layer of snow. It was a breathtaking sight. Laura released his hand and proceeded him onto the courtyard, her high heeled boots leaving foot prints in the freshly fallen snow. As if she had forgotten he was there, she held out her hands like she was attempting to catch the snowflakes.

 

When she turned around to face him, she was a vision. Her red dress and hair made a stark contract with the virginal white snow. Her green eyes were alive with mirth as the snowflakes clung to her dress and hair. She looked carefree, young, happy and Bill knew that she had been right. Winter was in her blood. It had to be. She looked more alive than ever in the cold, snow falling down on her.

 

“Aren’t you going to join me, Bill? Or is the harsh winter weather of the North too much for an Ironborn man?” She was teasing him, but Bill still straightened his back and follow her out onto the courtyard, the snow crushing under his boots. He wondered how she wasn’t freezing. Even with all the layers of clothes, he could still feel the icy wind while Laura seemed completely unfazed by it.

 

To his complete surprise, the water in fountain wasn’t frozen. It wasn’t as lively as it had been in the autumn, but it was still trickling very slowly down the rocks, creating a grey path through the snow. Laura followed his gaze and an indefinable look passed over her face. There was something dark about, something sad and even a sense of relief. One day, he would ask her about the fountain when she trusted him.

 

“Have you ever seen a Godswood in the snow?” she asked, looking towards the trees just outside the wall. Their branches were all bare, save the enormous white trees, whose red leaves never fell.

 

“I can’t say that I have,” Bill confessed. He’s rarely seen Godswoods, preferring to stay away from religious places where he didn’t belong. But when Laura took his hand again and guided him outside the wall into the small forest just outside her village towards the weirwood.

 

The tree was enormous, thick branches sticking out crowned with five-pointed red leaves and in its trunk a face, a slightly terrifying face with an open mouth and red eyes, red sap out of them, giving it a rather macabre look. Bill never quite understood the Old Gods and their religion, but he appreciated the history of them and how many things these trees must have witnessed. Most of them were thousands of years old.

 

“I used to play here when I was a child during the first winter of my life. I grew up with dead trees, cold and snow. Seeing a weirwood like this, all alone with its leaves and covered in snow, it makes me feel at home. More than a crackling fire in the hearth ever could. That is why I don’t wear a cloak. I like the cold.”

 

“I can see that,” Bill replied quietly, not sure what to make of her sudden confession. For months she had avoided him and they were being friendly, sharing stories of their youth, holding hands and walking through the snow. He watched her as she ran her fingers over the tree’s rough bark, tracing the face that was carved into it, staining her fingers with the red sap which was almost the exact same color as her dress.

 

Bill held his breath as he watched her. He’d always found the ways of the North strange and he didn’t quite trust the Old Gods with their terrifying trees. Laura stopped and watched her fingers, transfixed by the red fluid that covered them. For a moment, Bill was afraid she was going to pass out. She suddenly looked so weak. So vulnerable.

 

“Are you alright?” he asked, breaking the eerie silence that was present. Laura looked up, a confused look in her eyes, before she nodded slowly, snowflakes falling from her hair.

 

“I’m fine,” she said, but there was a slight tremble to her voice that Bill had never heard before. She pushed herself away from the tree towards him, but the toe of her boot caught on a root and she stumbled right into Bill’s arms. Her hands grasped his woolen tunic as she collided with him. Instinctively he wrapped his arms around her waist and steadied her.

 

He thought his heart was going to be out of his chest, but he wasn’t sure yet if fear was to blame of the fact that he had Laura Roslin pressed up against his body, her warm breath caressing his throat. Slowly she looked up at him, her green eyes wide, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment or something else that Bill couldn’t identify.

 

For a moment neither of them moved and time itself seemed to have stopped as Bill held the lady in his arms. And even for the briefest of moments Bill thought himself brave enough to close the short distance and kiss Laura, the way he had wanted to kiss her from the moment he had met her. But he quickly banished that thought from his head and simply brushed a lock of her auburn hair out of her face and behind her ear, allowing his hand to linger a little.

 

“Thank you. For catching me,” Laura said finally as she took as step back and ran her hands over her dress, brushing away some snowflakes.

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

_To be continued_


	3. Lady Laura

Laura sat in front of her vanity wearing nothing but a long white shift that was just far enough unlaced to show her ample cleavage, but Laura hardly noticed. She didn’t notice anything at all, not even that Tory had entered with a few men, carrying buckets of hot water for Laura’s bath. She simply sat in front of the mirror staring into nothingness as she traced the shape of her lips with her finger.

 

She could still remember how he had felt, the admiral. No, Bill, how Bill had felt when she so clumsily tripped and fell into his arms. She remembered his large hands at her waist, holding her, their warmth seeping through the fabric of her dress, warming her skin. She could still remember his heart beating so fast and so loudly that she had felt it against her palm. His body has been so solid, so warm, so protective.

 

She had almost kissed him. Almost. She didn’t know if it had been because of the weirwood, or the sudden light feeling she had had in her head. Or possibly because his incredibly blue eyes had betrayed his thoughts and Laura had been able to see his desire for her. He’d wanted to kiss her as much as she had wanted to kiss him.

 

“Milady, your bath is ready,” Tory said, rudely interrupting her thoughts. Laura turned away from the vanity and saw that there was indeed a tub filled with steaming water, the scent of the foreign oils Tory always added already filling the air. Sighing, she stood, swiftly pulling the shift over her head, leaving her skin bare to the cold air. Goosebumps appeared and involuntarily her nipples turned into stiff peaks.

 

Quickly she crossed the small distance to her bath and stepped into the hot water. It was a little too hot, the water turning her skin slightly red, but Laura ignored the pain and emerged herself in the water with a satisfied moan. Her skin tingled as it got used to the water and she flexed her fingers before running them over her legs.

 

“Does milady want me to stay and wash your hair?” Tory asked from the corner. Laura turned around in the tub and watched her handmaiden for a moment. She had changed a lot since crossing the seas and Westeros to come work for her. She had gone from a cool, sometimes rather obstinate girl to a polite, but still strong-willed woman who knew what her Lady needed before Laura had realized it herself.

 

“Yes, I would like that,” she replied before sinking down into the water, completely submerging her hair and head until her lungs started to burn and simply had to go up for air. Her hair was heavy and stuck to her back as the warm glided down her skin.

 

Tory was already there when she opened her eyes, holding a bottle that held a mix of precious oils and herbs, and soap. It was the only thing that Laura could use for her hair that wouldn’t dry it out or make it just a mess of tangles. She knew that her supply was running low and with the winter and the wars, chances of restocking were slim, but she continued using it, just in smaller amounts. Maybe she’d just have to start wearing her hair in a braid.

 

Tory poured a small amount of the mixture into her palms before slowly starting to massage it into Laura’s hair. The scent of the herbs and oils filled the air and Laura breathed in deeply. She always loved the smell. It was something so unlike Westeros, unlike the North. Whenever she imao, notgined what the Free Cities would be like, she thought that they would smell like this, warm, exotic, soothing.

 

“The admiral and I will be having dinner together tonight,” Laura stated as Tory started rinsing out the oils. She could sworn she heard Tory suck in her breath, she knew how much Laura had been avoiding William Adama. “I will require that the table in my chambers will be set for two.”

 

“In your chambers, milady?” The handmaiden couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice. If the scandalous tone in Tory’s voice was to be believed, she might as well have informed the Braavosi that she had invited the Admiral into her bed, instead of just her chambers to have dinner.

 

“Yes, in my chambers. I would like some privacy with admiral Adama. Is that a problem?” Laura turned around and looked at Tory, eyebrow raised. There were times when she appreciated Tory’s smart mouth or her sarcastic tone, but at other times, the girl just really didn’t know yet when to keep her mouth shut. Tory bent her head.

 

“No, not at all, milady,” she said softly. Laura sighed and sat back, letting her shoulders submerge as she wrapped her arms around her knees. A sharp pain shot through her left breast. Laura had to clench her teeth to stop herself from betraying the pain she felt.

 

“You can go, Tory,” she said quickly. She needed a moment to herself. “I can handle the rest myself. Could you send the Maester to my room?” Tory nodded and made her exit. With a shaking hand, Laura reached up and softly touched her breast. The pain was slowly subsiding. Her fingers easily found the small lump that was hidden underneath the soft flesh. It felt bigger, as if it had grown. She felt as if it was draining her of her life, of her will to live.

 

Placing her hands on the edge of the tub, she pushed herself up, the water running down her body. The air had been cold before she went into the bath, but now it felt icy. Shivering she quickly wrapped a large piece of cloth around her body and went to sit by the fire place, drops of water falling from her hair onto her shoulders as she stared into the fire. She didn’t even noticed that the Maester had arrived until he was standing in front of her.

 

“M’lady, Tory told me you wanted to see me.”

 

“Yes, I do. The pain is getting worse. So are the dreams.” What first had been mere vague images that she couldn’t comprehend, had become vivid nightmares or realistic dreams that haunted her even during the day.

 

“May I,” he asked, gesturing towards her breasts. With a resigned sigh, Laura opened her towel. The first he had requested, she had felt awkward, ashamed, baring herself to a man she hardly knew, but despite his grumpy attitude, Maester Cottle had been shockingly nice and gentle as he was now. His fingers were cold, but his touch was soft as he sought out the lump. The expression on his face was blank, but Laura could see the flicker of worry in his eyes.

 

“I sent ravens to a few other Maesters. Only one seemed to know this disease.” Maester Cottle never sounded happy, but the tone in his voice told Laura what she already knew in her heart. But she needed to hear him say it. She needed it to become real.

 

“And?”

 

“I’m afraid it’s not good.” He paused and clasped his hands together. Laura held his gaze. He had to say it. She didn’t want to say it herself or ask it. “You’re dying. There is no known cure.”

 

Laura closed her eyes and took a shaky breath. There it was, finally. She was dying. She had felt it ever since she had discovered the lump, since she saw the ill-masked clueless expression on Maester Cottle’s face and now she had heard the actually words. Dying. No known cure. Without even thinking about it, her hand went up to her breast. How could something so small and invisible be the end of her?

 

“So,” she said and her voice cracked. Laura swallowed, her mouth suddenly gone dry. “Where do we go from here?”

 

“Extract from the weirwood seems to help. And when the pain gets worse we can start with milk of the poppy. And I’d seriously consider prayer.” Prayer. Laura nodded, but felt tears starting to burn in her eyes. When the ever skeptic Maester Cottle suggested prayer, she knew it was going to get worse, a lot worse than what she had already been feeling.

 

“And the dreams I’ve been having?” she asked. She wanted to know about them, if there was anything that could be done about them or if they had any meaning at all.

 

“The disease nor the extract should be giving you dreams like the ones you’ve been having.”

 

“What are they, if not side-effects?”

 

“A message from the Gods?” Maester Cottle suggested with a shrug. Which left Laura even more clueless than before. Cottle didn’t believe in the Gods. It seemed so out of character for the Maester to suddenly offer that her dreams came from the Gods. At the same time it terrified her. If the Maester resorted to suggesting prayer as an option, her dreams and her disease had to truly be something that horribly incurable.

 

***

 

Laura smiled when the admiral, Bill entered her chambers, wearing dark grey clothes that made him look even more handsome than his usual dark blue ones. When he returned her smile, she got up to greet him. She wished she could understand why she suddenly wasn’t so apprehensive about the Ironborn admiral. Maybe he had finally shown a human side she hadn’t seen yet.

 

“Good evening, m’lady,” he said as he took her hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles. Laura felt a blush creep up on her cheeks and chastised herself for being so ridiculous. Dozens of men had kissed her hand and Bill had been one of them numerous times. This wasn’t the time to suddenly feel affections for him, even if she had trouble trying not to imagine what it would have been like if they had kissed in the godswood.

 

“I thought we’d agreed to call each other by our given names, Bill,” she said, carefully enunciating his name, reminding him of the little trust that they had built this day. Bill smiled, still delicately holding his hand.

 

“So we did, Laura,” he replied, his voice soft, his expression gentle, and Laura could see him as the man who had raised two sons, as the man who just wanted to save his crew from getting caught up in a power struggle. He was honorable.

 

“Please, sit.” She pulled her hand out of his grip and sat down herself. Bill kept his eyes on her the entire time as he sat down, his gaze intense, as if he was trying to see right pass her skin and into her soul. It was unsettling. Consciously she ran her hands over the moss-green fabric of her dress, straightening the invisible wrinkles.

 

Bill was still watching her, a curious look on his face, when the food was brought in. During winter she couldn’t afford to make an extravagant dinner. The broth was simple with meat that had probably been caught by the admiral’s men and vegetables from the last harvest, still reasonably fresh. Laura knew it would taste good, but the mere smell of the meal made her nauseous and she pushed the bowl away, blaming the weirwood extract that the Maester had forced her to take.

 

“Is something wrong?” His voice is laced with concern and Laura could have sworn she saw a flicker of fear in his eyes.

 

“I’m not feeling well,” she said curtly, but smiled anyway, hoping to divert attention from her. She didn’t want to talk about her mysterious illness. About her impending death.

 

“I noticed. Is there anything I can do?” And there his hand was again, covering hers, his warmth seeping into her skin, into her blood, spreading throughout her entire body, all the way to her toes.

 

“You - -” She swallowed, a sudden lump in her throat, almost stopping her from talking. She felt uncertain. No man, save for her father, had cared enough about her to be able to notice it whenever she took ill. How could this man, this foreigner, this rough, burly admiral care about her that much. “You noticed?”

 

“Yes,” he replied so incredibly sincerely. Laura had to look away from his face. Opening up to other people, showing her emotions, her vulnerabilities, had never been one of her strong suits. Her mother had always told her it was one of her biggest weaknesses. Bill’s soothing voice carried through her thoughts. “You can talk to me, if you feel the need to.”

 

It would be so easy to open up to him, to confide in him, to share her burden. He made it so easy with his unguarded blue eyes, his comforting touch. She took a shaky breath, trying to collect her remaining strength. She looked at their hands, tanned, weathered skin against her white, pristine fingers. Such a large contrast. She ought to tell him about her illness, about everything. She felt that he deserved that, but could she put that burden on his shoulders?

 

“I’m ill, dying.” It slipped out before she had had a proper chance to decide whether or not she should tell him. Laura had no idea what kind of reaction to expect from him. His jaw set and for the first time he turned his gaze away from her face as if suddenly hurt to look at her. Laura kept looking at him, at the small changes in his face, the pain that was suddenly etched onto it.

 

“Do you, uhm, do you know how long?” he asked. He sounded choked up, like unshed tears. It made Laura feel her own tears, threatening to fall.

 

“According to Maester Cottle, a year at the most, but months is more like it,” Laura heard herself say. Her voice sounded detached, like it wasn’t her own. It sounded cold, lifeless, like she wished she could feel. It would make this, dealing with all of this, easier.

 

“And the illness?” The strong man that she had come to know sounded small, defeated as if her news had drained all of the fight out of him. She couldn’t look at him as she relayed the information Maester Cottle had given her.

 

“It’s rare, almost unknown and incurable.”

 

“I see.” Laura withdrew her hand from his grasp and got up from the table, turning her back towards Bill. She needed a moment to recollect her emotions. Telling Bill, his reaction, they were both much more difficult than hearing the words herself. She took a deep breath, hoping to expel some of her misery before she turned back around. Bill was looking at her and Laura could see the unshed tears in his eyes.

 

“I apologize. This was not what I had planned when I invited you for dinner,” she said, trying to sound as normal as possible, but she could hear her voice shaking.

 

“Laura, don’t apologize, please,” he said as he got up and took a few steps towards her. “You don’t have to apologize, not for this.”

 

He was standing so close, she could smell him, hear his breathing. She could see the lines on his face, the lines of grey in his blue eyes. Laura held her breath. This wasn’t the time, the right moment, to feel the desire to kiss him again, to decide that the admiral was handsome. She couldn’t be attracted to him right now, not with all of this.

 

It was Bill who moved first, softly, nearly imperceptibly placing his lips against hers, his hand warm against her shoulder. Laura closed her eyes, giving herself up to the sensation. He was kissing her. Admiral William Adama, the man she had disliked and distrusted less than a week ago, was kissing her and she was letting him. She had wanted him to kiss her.

 

When she felt him pull back, Laura instinctively put her hand on the back of his neck and stopped him from stepping back. She wasn’t ready for it to end yet. She wasn’t ready for this carefree moment to pass. She moved closer, pressing her body against his as she kissed him harder, daringly running her tongue over his bottom lip.

 

Bill hesitated before he put his hands on her waist, pulling her hips flush against his before he slowly parted his lips. Laura moaned when their tongues touched. She could never have imagined this. Being so close to him, touching him, kissing him, it felt good. It felt right. Like they belonged. It made her forget.

 

Until they broke the kiss and Bill rested his forehead against hers. That brief moment of peace and tranquility dissolved right in front of her eyes and reality came crashing back. Bill sighed and Laura looked up. A small smile was playing on his lips, but there were tears in his eyes. And Laura knew, just knew that he was seeing the hopelessness of their situation too. Where would they go from here?


End file.
